RPlog:To Kill A Karrde Part 1
_________________________________________________ Things change. Of course they change. It was no different with Tyy'sun and his relationship with Karrde's underworld organization. He had first met members of Karrde's group on Tatooine, amidst the flowing and stinging sands. The crimson Twi'lek had made something fo a habit of keeping vigil on the street containing a safe house for his own employers and that of a compound belonging to Karrde. Lancel had been the first to make contact - and the exchange was pleasant enough. Stormtrooper sightings around Mos Eisley had made it poignant that a watch be kept at all times. The deal between Lancel and Tyy'sun never really panned out to much, and the Imperial presence soon vanished, all investigations leading to little evidence of their arrival and departure. The brief teamwork did, however, bring Tyy'sun to be among a few priveledged invitees to a private barbeque on a distant world in which many of Karrde's crew attended. It was here that he met with Lyra the ex-ganger, Radke the good natured doctor and Karrde himself. * They were the days of old, when tatooine was a place of adventure, ganger fights were commonplace and Tyy'sun was of little consequence. Things change. The good relations ended abruptly on the day Lancel found himself captive at the hands of one of Tyy'sun's henchmen, a Wookiee. The Crimson Twi'lek had raised ranks in the Syndicate of his employ - The Black Sun. He was ambitious, dark, cunning.. and a lust for power had seeped into his very bones. The matter of Lancel, of course, was mere coincidence. The bounty on his head had lead to his capture - but when Tyy'sun walked into the room and Lancel saw him, the human fighter was releaved - after all - Tyy'sun was a friend. The harsh slap that stung Lancel's face after a brief exchange proved him to be otherwise. It was Tyy'sun full intent to be known in this underworld - it was his intent to be king. * Karrde was contacted - a brazen and prideful Tyy'sun extorted the powerful man for Lancel's ransom. It was the beginning of an elusive competition between the two, though Karrde's view on the matter seemed somewhat neutral. Karrde was a strategist - a genius, and knew well the ways of negotiations and etiquette. Tyy'sun was a monster. The Twi'lek's eventual climb to the very top of Black Sun only fueled his inertia and darkness. And the Darkside, newly revealed within the crimelord only furthered his blood lust and boast. It is unfortunate that Tyy'sun did not take the clue of Karrde's success - unfortunate that he did not witness the skill with which Karrde handled his affairs, and the cunning with which he gain power. unfortunate, becuase Tyy'sun's methods were exactly the opposite. His crime sprees were rampant, violent and full of blood. His enemies were multiplying. His frustration was mounting. * As Karrde's bunsiness flourished, Tyy'sun's operations did as well - but in recent weeks, Karrde had eaten into Black Sun profits. Not by design, but rather by the fruit of Karrde's practiced labors - and the Twi'lek crimelord has made a decision on the matter. Karrde must die. _________________________________________________ Venturing into the Smuggler's Moon, with it's mass of passages, skywalks, towers and smells, was a bit like slipping into a flatulent Hutt's mudbath. Or so Karrde liked to compare it to, and verbally. As the smuggler chief made his way through the crowds of beings, he kept a mental loop running in his mind; brush blaster, check pockets, check chest for holes, check in front, behind, shadows. It was a paranoid man's obstacle course. As the glidewalk ended, Karrde stepped out and to the side, picking a path through the more open space. Since arrival, all he'd done was follow a treasure map's worth of steps to reach the meeting place, which did little more than chafe his patience. The man's path alters, and he strikes out for a grimy support pillar to assess which of the doors was the right one. Tyy'sun Eson lurks in the shadows of the Smuggler's Moon in wait. His network served him well this week. It would be now that he makes his stand. Cloaked in gaberwool and with hood shrouding his fetures in darkness, Tyy'sun steps out before Karrde, his blue/grey orbs flashing in the night, his ire building. "Talon Karrde.. " the crimelord says simply. The named man didn't become what he was by assuming a cheery outlook on the galaxy, especially when on Nar Shaddaa and being faced with cloaked beings appearing out of already-dubious crowds. The reaction is as practiced as his business maneuvers. "Excuse me..." the smuggler chief says, almost absently, as he moves to step around the pillar. It's the sort of polite thing any decent being would do to avoid being rudely in someone's way, though starting to draw the heavy blaster at Karrde's side was no Coruscanti parlour protocol. The dichotomy of actions and manner was fused into habit long ago. "Believe me when I say that I have tried.. " intones the cloaked Twi'lek, stepping around the opposite side of the pillar to once again appear in the smuggler chief's way. As he does so the hood is pulled from his head with a black gloved hand. Crimson skinned, tattooed lekku flow out of that hood and furl over the crimelord's shoulders. An intense gaze is layed into the man. The heavy blaster is noted but no action is taken - it seems a brief discourse is the desire of the Twi'lek. He remains in Karrde's way.. "Yet your ability to remain a thorn in my side makes it harder and harder to excuse you.." The meeting of the Twi'lek on the other side seemed to set the tone; clearly, someone wanted to talk enough to make the effort, despite acts of feigned absentmindedness. As the blaster eases just a centimeter back into it's worn holster, though the weapon remains in Karrde's hand. "That's not an uncommon sentiment," the smuggler chief agrees quietly, studying the revealed being with the sharpness of recognition. The man's manner remains amiable; it may be easy to be tricky over a holonet link, but in person it was less advised. "I thought our last discussion ended on a positive note, such that there would be no need to be a thorn." One eyebrow arches questioningly. "I've missed your appointment requests?" "There is only one appointment for you, Karrde.. " The dark smirk turning the end of Tyy'sun's mouth upward reveals dark lines, fold like - as though the red skin of his face had made the expression many times. The yellow tinted glaze of the Twi'lek's eyes surrounding the blue orbs hint at the context in which that smirk it typically shown. Likely not a pleasant context. "And I don't make requests.. " The intent of the being before Karrde may begin to come clear, the ire and hate welling within his eyes is almost a palpable presence.. "Your operations in the outer rim are through. As are you." Such as it is with men whose primary weapon is their words; the attempt must be made, and the intent and direction of the encounter determined, at least a little bit, before resorting to a gunfight. In this case, the intent comes across like an intangible blaster bolt alright. Karrde's switch of armament comes without further words, smiles or pretense. As the blaster slips free of the holster, it's own intent on aiming and likely firing not in doubt, the smuggler chief throws himself again at the pillar, expecting to find some degree of evasion and protection. And Eson just watches the display, his senses accute. His own hand gloved hand drifts down with seeming calm to the blaster hanging at his side beneath the gaberwool of the cloak, it's brother remaining unfettered in the other holster for now. "Drop the useless weapon, Karrde - would I speak fact if it were so uncertain? Lancel, Radke and Lyra are now under you direct control.. your compliance with my demand will determine their fate.." spoken like a villain, and with such calm - but the betrayal of that calm is the fire in the crimelord's eyes and the irritated twitch of lekku. Tyy'sun steps to the side, the pillar between himself and Karrde. It seems Eson is just crazy enough to bring words to a firefight. It was a lie, but the Words, by his calculations, should cut deeply indeed. As the pillar serves it's purpose, Karrde pauses long enough to listen to the being on the other side of the permacite. The width is only enough for a human to expect any cover from, but it's enough. Passersby note the growing argument and an open space clears as the wiser majority of them steer well clear. The glinting of eyes and leering grins through the crowd hint at a more sporting minority watching. "Tyy'sun, the Black Sun's time has come and gone," the smuggler chief remarks evenly, blaster at his shoulder and ready. "You are no Xizor." This seems ample explanation for his actions, as the smuggler takes two steps away from the pillar, then a long one to the side to bring his blaster down to bear on Tyy'sun. A trio of blaster bolts follow, if the action phase of Karrde's Plan B allows. All composure is dissipated in an explosion of movement from the cloaked Twi'lek, a snarl from the depths of Eson's throat bourne of the very darkside which preeminates the coming intent and actions of Karrde within Tyy'sun's mind's eye! A flash of energy slips past the crimelord's head as his swivels to the left with all speed. A second blazes a trail through the air, narrowly missing it's target and slapping with a parade of sparks into a distant wall across the way as Eson reverses direction and lunges to the right, setting his feet firmly on the duracrete ground - and the third blast, hot with intended death bores a dangerous, seering wound along the side of Tyy'sun and continues on through the fabric of the Twi'lek's flowing cloak as he lunges forward and directly at Karrde! The display is an impossibility before the eyes of a stunned and onlooking crowd. A few screams from those a bit close to where the blaster fire actually hits augment the animalistic growl eminating from Tyy'sun as he goes directly for the blaster in Karrde's hand. With full force and a flap of the bloodied and carbon singed cloak the body of Tyy'sun threaten's to slam into the smuggler chief! As the red Twi'lek slips past the energy bolts and suddenly escalating conflict prompts a sort of implosionary surge in the onlookers, Karrde's expression of focused determination freezes for an instant into something like dread. Marksmanship aside, the smuggler has enough experience with what happens before his eyes now to know that he's in more trouble than he thought. He's dealing with an animal now, Karrde knows. The frozen mask dissolves into something much more determined, as the smuggler boss jerks his blaster arm free of the oncoming Twi'lek, meeting the being with Plan B.02 and a locked forearm at the thing's throat level. The thing's chin covers the top of Karrde's forearm, Eson's throat slamming roughly against it and choking the growl to a bubbling halt as the two opponent's collide and fall backwards against a dirt covered nearby wall. Karrde's blaster just out of reach, a frustrated Eson glowers from hell-bent eyes at the object of his ambition and hatred. Fist after fist is rained down on the man, like a hail storm, each one seeking to impliment the crimelord's very force of will on the situation, the onslaught keeping the underworld rival between himself and the unforgiving wall. All sensibility is gone, there is no mind to the attack - there is only the passionate rage of bloodlust fueled by the darkside - a corruptive Force indeed to the spyche of those without the willpower to control it! As the gleeful and chaotic cheering of the onlookers rises, it surprisingly keeps Karrde's senses afloat. Holding Tyy'son's head at bay with one arm leaves no protection from the pummeling everywhere else, and as the two slam into the wall, the smuggler locks up on 'keep gun away' and 'go for throat' as Tyy'sun digs in with his fists. Just... the fists, as if this fact were a rallying comment in the background. Doubling over, or trying to, offers some help, and Karrde pulls his blaster back into the fray, tucking the arm in to help his own defense. The electric retort of the blaster going off against the Twi'lek madman's side cuts through the sounds of cheering and fists against flesh. The light armor of Tyy'sun give's way to the tearing heat of the blast, the thin-skin t-shirt beneath disintigrating away, the crimson flesh beneath that searing to shreds and the forming wound in the enraged crimelord's gut boils and cauterizes. Tyy'sun howls as the pain spreads through him, jamming his senses with a blinding intensity as a proverbial exclamation point erupts in his mind. He has been shot, there is no doubt. A flash of memory, oddly, pours through Eson - Lyra, her projectile archaic firearm sending a bullet into the back of his head. That was the fateful event that had changed everything for Tyy'sun. His life hung amidst his brain in tatters on the cold tunnel floor of the Abyssal Ruins of Coruscant's lower labyrinth - by all acounts Eson died that day.. but the actions of two Jedi, Ai'kani and Johanna, had pieced his grey matter and skull back together, had surged their own Force driven life energies into his being - had preserved the enemy that came back to haunt them.. from that day, Tyy'sun had awoken to the Force - and the darkside. Like an instinctual spasm of power as the wound forms in Eson, a howl erupts from the Twi'lek and the Force surges through him in a determined defiance and stubborn survival. With all his might, and blinded by the trauma of the blast, Tyy'sun's arms swing in unison to bash the offending weapon from Karrde's hand in an attempt to send it as far away as possible from the fray! It's a tough thing to miss, even while being battered on, and Karrde's shot does the best he could hope for, short of Tyy'sun falling to the ground and dying, perhaps. The roaring howl inches before the smuggler signals... pain, yes, but also rage. There is no fear or retreat in the horrible sound; if Karrde was hoping for flight, it seems he got fight instead. Even the shouting around the two seems to freeze into a brief silence at Tyy'sun's reaction, and the dark shape of Karrde's blaster fling out of his grasp brings them to a frenzy again. Karrde, apparently seeking to follow his weapon, attempts to lunch himself off the wall to the side, his now empty hand scrambling down a pocket for Plan C; backup. Much like his power in the underworld and Black Sun Syndicate - Tyy'sun's energies and ability to continue the attempted murder would soon reach their end. On pure inertia of rage and darkness alone does the blaster at the Twi'lek's side come free of it's holster. If the near-death event long ago in the bowels of Corusca city changed everything for the crimelord, so too does his animalistic attack on one of the underworld's most powerful and prominent figures mark a transformation as well. The darkside is a Force of passion, rage and death - and the untrained learner is but a puppet to it's whims. Crimesprees and wholesale slaughter do not mesh well with the Black Sun which forges its success on the protection of the shadows and the corruption of business and government. A blatent attempt on Karrde's life will mark the final straw in the unstable leadership and direction Eson has brought to the Syndicate. Things change. But Eson does not know that. With what energy he has left, and burning pain wracking his gut, the blaster is brought down with anger against the head of his chosen enemy. The blindness of the pain and rage does not question the action - is not a blaster for blasting? Yet down comes the weapon, a pummeling thing - to smach and declare the brute force of the twi'lek. Down comes the blaster, repeatedly, seeking to spell the end of the symbol of underworld power: Talon Karrde. Down comes the blaster, its cold hard body a hammer against the smuggler chief's face and head. But the exhertion is too much. Eson's knee hits the duracrete ground as his legs buckle beneath him and blood hues his synthleather pants and gaberwool cloak. Yet he has still not fallen away from the fight completely, his eyes promising doom should his body manage to go on. The saving grace of the comlink is fumbled out with surprising speed, the device having been a lifesaver before. Alas, Karrde doesn't have time to do more than thumb the thing on before Tyy'sun is on him again with a new battering. The blow is like a shot through the eyes, and Karrde stumbles against the wall again, only to fall away from it, pursued by the Twi'lek's agonized rage. The communications device is, for perhaps the first time, abandoned in favor of attempts at protecting his head, though the smuggler only gains glancing blows on his arms. As the human's attacker tires, so does his victim's movements, until Karrde lies on the dirty permacite ground, bloody and unmoving, his comlink still lifeless near his hand. Eson hovers over the now still form of Karrde, the blaster in his hand held sideways, his grip not even on the handle of the weapon, but just grasping it sternly buy the body. Crimson knuckles pale from the strain of the grip and human blood clings to the object. Tyy'sun's breath runs ragged from his lungs. At length the crimelord continues to hover, his rage subsiding, the Force flowing through him, yet hardly driving him to action in favor of sustaining his health. The wound at his gut is grievous indeed. But it is the sight of Karrde unconscious before him which gives a reality to the victory at hand in his mind. If only Tyy'sun knew the truth of the defeat it actually entailed. The crowd continues to look on in something of an awe. Some of the myriad of aliens and humans have wandered off now that the fray is at an end. No one thinks to get involved considering the brutality of the scene. Tyy'sun now clenches his gut in pain and he notices the comlink now laying on the ground. A sense of urgency comes to mind for the Twi'lek even as a dizziness creeps into his head. He will need to get moving if he is to survive. Tyy'sun crawls slowly over Karrde and scoops up the divice on the ground and strains with clenched teeth to set it's frequency. In a near desperate voice his mutters into it, "Eson here.. lower levels, I need a transport and fast." The Syndicate henchmen would arrive shortly to pickup the both of them. On the verge of colapse, the bleeding and sorely wounded Eson moves to the wall and sits down, leaning against it, his head lolling side to side in dizziness against the dirty wall, a vigil kept on the croud from drooping eyes in case any would dare come to claim his prize - Talon Karrde. Fade to black..